sunflowers
by crimson and bare
Summary: - "You looked so sad and grey. I got you flowers," she says lightly with a faint grin. Draco scoffs at the shabby Loon, but her smile doesn't falter. "I know," he replies coldly. "I threw them out." - Draco wasn't expecting someone he tormented for years to give him flowers. Luna thought nothing of implications, just knew it was a kind gesture. Neither of them expected love. DMLL.
1. Chapter 1

Draco has a splitting headache.

It feels like his sinuses are collapsing into his face, as if he's gone to the depths of the ocean without a second to stabilize himself. The pressure in his mind has become physical, forcing itself on him, digging into his pallid skin and turning him into this wan, shadowed, worthless version of himself. He _is _worthless, after all. That's what it feels like, certainly. Even his mother considers him as useless as a mudblood—she may fawn over him and boost his self-esteem to unfathomable proportions, but the fact that she doesn't believe in him speaks louder than anything else.

He kicks the wall as he walks into his dormitory, barely feeling the pain of a stubbed toe. It's absolutely nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse. Perhaps he's just numb, though. He used to feel every sensation and be able to scorn it all he pleases. But now? He feels half dead, shambling about as he tries desperately to succeed.

Honestly, nothing could make this day worse. And that's when he sees them. Draco Malfoy himself stands corrected.

A bouquet of sunflowers rests on his bed, still slightly muddy. But their yellow blossoms are more vibrant than sunshine and more confident than moonlight. They're tied together with a piece of fraying twine, tightened with a sloppily made bow. They seem to radiate in an unearthly way, and he knows he loathes them.

Draco has never liked flowers. Roses are elegant, but the thistles make them difficult to hold. Daffodils are disgusting—even their name. Tulips are far too pastel, and incredibly low class. Violets are decent, but they grow to close to the ground—he would never want to touch them for fear of filth. Lilac and lavender are overly used scents by his mother, so he, naturally, his nose is tired of them. And sunflowers—he thinks he hates sunflowers most of all. They're bright, disgusting and overbearing.

However, it isn't necessarily the unwelcome flowers he's perplexed about. No, he's contemplating just who in this school would think to lay sunflowers on his bed. Do they believe he'll waltz in and feel like he's being served floral arrangements by angels on the cloud of his cheap quality four-poster bed? That the sight of something plucked from the _ground _would brighten his day?

He picks them up and drops them in the rubbish bin. They look up at him helplessly: _please, Draco, please, please don't leave me_. He sneers.

Draco lies back and closes his aching eyes.

…

Draco wakes, sweating in the dead of the night. He's cold and sticky, his headache increasing, as well as sore limbs. Feeling fatigued and weakened, he slips out of the covers and realizes he fell asleep in his uniform. His roommates surround him, sleeping snug in their little beds. Oh, he's not jealous. He doesn't want to be a snoring Nott, or a disadvantaged Zabini. He would give up any night of good sleep to evade being as poor and filthy-blooded as them.

He cracks his knuckles before smoothing out his robes. For the longest while, as he walks into the common room, he tries to recall what he dreamt about. The nightmares are usually the same: watching his mother being tortured, the cold embrace of death as he fails and falls from a tower. But last night was different.

Last night he dreamt of sunflowers.

He was walking in a long, endless field of them. They were oceanic, closing in on him. And as he walked down this path, he realized that there was no escape. And little bees were all resting on the flowers, blending into their bright, carefree yellow. And, then, they attacked.

Draco hopes the sunflowers got tossed out by the House Elves. He certainly doesn't need such ugly flowers anywhere near him.

He decides to take a walk. Anything is better than lounging in this dull, jading place. It grates at him to be trapped in Hogwarts, and he's hoping to get out as soon as possible. Yet, he won't until Dumbledore is dead. There's a twinge in his arm, but he knows he imagined it.

After a long while, Draco ends up wandering to a little cranny outside of the Great Hall. He curls up in it, lying his head down on the wall. It's incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn't mind. He's happier here, alone by himself than alone amongst others.

"Hello there." He jumps at the sound of a voice. "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you."

Of all people, it's Loony Lovegood. He rolls his cold grey eyes, not believing this. The girl he has tormented more ruthlessly than Longbottom is wandering straight to him in the dead of night. Does she think he would be caught dead talking to her? Fucking blood traitor—an absolute nutcase too.

"Good evening," she says softly, sitting beside him. He slides away from her. "Well, good morning. It's really just quite early. But, personally, I don't consider it morning until the sun is up. That's what they did before there was time. That's what animals do, you know? They don't have the same limitations as—"

"Please, shut the fuck up," Draco snaps viciously, rubbing his temples.

Loony hesitates for a moment, looking startled.

"Well, that was quite rude, wasn't it?" Her voice is so unaffected—still airy and light without a tremble to it. He can't believe he can't screw her up as much as the others. Then again, her mind isn't exactly functional.

"Where _are _you? You're certainly not in the real world," he says sharply, trying to twist a dagger in a butterfly's wing.

"My body's on the Earth and my head is in the stars," she comments softly, smiling faintly to herself.

There is a lengthy silence.

"Who said that, Draco?" she asks, as if someone is disgusting as her should be allowed to have a common conversation with him.

"I don't know," he says with a sigh, getting ready to leave.

"Well, I guess I did then." She shrugs and he almost laughs. Draco stands and starts to leave, desperate to get away from the freak. "Wait, Draco!" she calls, her tone suddenly changing from dizzy to frantic. He turns to face her. "Did you get them?"

"Get what?" He doesn't have the time for this.

"The flowers." It stuns him.

"No." And, at that lie, he escapes her as fast as he can.

…

Draco is mulling over ideas while in a particularly dull class. When is he going to need all of this when the Dark Lord seizes control? Better to be on the good side of the winners than the losers. He's tired anyway. And when he's tired he can think of nothing other than the death of Albus Dumbledore.

It's only November. He still has time. Well, he doesn't need that much time. He'll show them. He'll show them all what he can do. His true potential is endless.

He suddenly feels a wave of dizziness. Right before he is about to faint, he catches himself on his desk. His foot hits the leg of his chair and everyone looks at them. He shoots his classmates a scornful glance and they return to the lesson.

Draco looks up at the window of the classroom, dreaming of escaping this place. He's shocked by what he sees. Vibrant blue eyes stare back at him, piercing into him. Loony Lovegood's lips twitch when she sees him and he glares at her. It makes her giggle. Something is wrong with that girl.

She has some kind of strange fruit hanging from her ears. Draco has always been a diamond man himself.

…

When class lets out, Loony Lovegood is waiting for him. Usually, the people he tortures evade him at all costs. He rather enjoys the chase. It's possible Loony just avoids him by accident, seeing as she doesn't seem to have any idea of where she is going most of the time. But now, she is intentionally seeking him out.

"Yes, Loony?" he asks dully, raising an eyebrow at her shabby appearance.

"I wanted to tell you that I got you flowers," she says and he clears his throat, hoping no one is watching. His clique would never let him live it down.

"Oh, I know," he says honestly and she looks puzzled, as if no one has lied to her before. "I threw them away."

He starts to walk away.

"Draco!" she calls after him and he stops. He didn't have to stop, but, for some reason, he did.

"What could you possibly want, nutcase?" He turns on his heel, exasperated.

"Don't you want to know why I got you them?" She steps closer to him and he instinctually moves back. He doesn't reply, which she seems to take as an invitation to explain. "You looked like you could use some cheering. I gave them to a lovely house elf to leave for you. There's obviously something wrong. Are you sad, Draco?"

"I don't want _your _sympathy of all people's." And with that, he leaves and hopes to never see Loony again.

_So, what did you think? Reviews are absolutely lovely. Whether you comment or not, thank you for reading this far, and have a nice day/night. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn't take talent to be mean.

This has always been Luna's opinion on people who find nothing better to do with their lives than antagonize others. It doesn't disturb her much, but she hates to see wounded feelings. If only there were a little more love in the world, a little more freedom, more people reaching out to live. That's the thing about a world rampaged with darkness and Death Eaters—hope is hard to come by.

Draco Malfoy always seemed to her to be a cold person, however, she never treated him unkindly. He calls her Loony, as many do. He mocks her in the hallways. But she always imagined that they would make very good friends. If Luna had friends, that is.

Therefore, when she saw him so sad and grey, it was unseemly. He always had cocky confidence, but once he returned to school, he appeared to be a shadow of himself. It must have been his father being sent to Azakaban. And, therefore, since Lune finds flowers to be the best way to cheer people up—she plucked a few sunflowers from the hillside on her daily barefoot, carefree walk across campus.

A lovely house elf by the name of Apple offered to take them from her. They had a wonderful conversation, actually. You can find companionship in funny places. The house elf left when Luna retired to bed, and she hoped dearly and truly that Draco would get the sunflowers and feel happier. His aura is a stingy, pasty sort of grey—it could use a touch of brilliant yellow.

Now, they had a conversation in the hallway. It wasn't that it didn't go as planned—it's crazy to think of a silly thing like _plans_. But he threw the flowers away. She knows Draco is not a very nice boy, but she feels that flowers are more universal. Even people as high born as Draco Malfoy, as important as Harry Potter or as compassionate as Ginny Weasley are all incorporated in the same, endless universe.

Luna walks to the library, quite enjoying a rare free period. It takes an excessive amount of studying to be prepared for the OWLs. But, on occasion, Luna will drift away from textbooks. It's hard to keep focused on something so dull and demanding. Luna has always had a different opinion than the textbooks, which has always bothered everyone around her.

She walks down the aisles, running her thin, ringed finger along the spines of the books. She likes the faint tickle, like the lick of a enoris mec. They have a delicate sort of tongue and a propensity for tracking down, cuddling and tasting humans. They're somewhat like puppies with wings. She and her father came across them once on a summer holiday.

Luna withdraws _A Record of Strange Occurrences in Little Known Countries _by Malvina Mulay. She feels as if she's read about it somewhere, but she can't recall where. The dizzy blonde walks over and curls up in one of the armchairs. She drapes her legs over the arm, not wanting to develop some strange illness. It's not healthy for the mind to sit in such a rigid position while in relaxation. It can cause all sorts of symptoms—hallucinations, nausea, internal bleeding.

She begins to read in peace and quiet.

Luna looks up and sees Hermione entering the room, lugging a stuffed bag. She has always wondered why Hermione's shoulder hasn't collapsed on itself. However, after the fiasco at the Ministry, Luna could never doubt Hermione's physical strength for a heartbeat. It was a life-changing experience, after all.

Hermione sees Luna and, instead of quickly looking away and dashing in the opposite direction, comes and sits down in front of her. Both girls wave feebly at each other and Hermione pulls a hulking volume of some sort out and begins to read it, taking notes on a small pad with a long, emerald quill. Her inkwell is scraped dry, sitting on the arm beside her.

There is a long silence.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione says, her tone slightly uncomfortable. Luna doesn't mind.

"Hello," Luna says with a light smile.

Before their conversation can proceed, Harry and Ron come barreling in, arguing quite loudly. Madame Pince shushes them angrily.

"I know it," Harry hisses, looking horribly frustrated.

"Know what?" Luna asks softly and Harry and Ron stop dead in their tracks.

Harry hesitates.

"Nothing," he says, waving a hand. "Nice to see you, Luna."

After Harry and Ron leave, Luna asks Hermione, "Do you know what Harry knows?" thinking it rather funny.

Hermione sighs.

"He's utterly convinced that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater," she says,leaning back in her chair for the first time. "I'm surprised Ron hasn't jumped in on it already. They look for every excuse to accuse the people they dislike. Logically, it makes very little sense."

Luna purses her lips for a moment.

"I'm sure he isn't," she says at first. "But, sometimes, very unexpected things can happen. You never really know with people."

…

The old grand piano in a small refurbished parlor in the dungeons had sat untouched and collecting dust for decades. That is, until Luna stumbled upon it in her third year. She never could play—in fact, she still can't. But she cleaned it off, opened the lid and began to press the keys. She goes down there all the time to be away from everything. She plays songs she makes up in her head—she has no idea how to play one anyone else wrote.

She is playing the piano when someone opens the door. Luna looks up to see none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Hello," she says with a broad smile.

"It's you making that awful noise," he comments icily. "I should've known."

Luna's grin doesn't falter.

"Do you sing?" she asks, not bothering to comment on his snide remarks.

"What?" He seems startled every time she talks to him.

"Do you sing, or dance, or play?" she inquires, pressing further.

"Uh, no," he scoffs, a bewildered expression on his sallow face.

"Uh, no," she says kindly, pressing one of the lower keys. "I thought not."

He doesn't leave. Usually, people tend to walk out on Luna, even without saying goodbye. Perhaps he is plotting more mocking words, but they never are very effective. He doesn't say much out of spite, merely out of some kind of mimetic desire. He only wants to raise his social standing, his feelings about himself.

Luna doesn't fear or hate Draco Malfoy; she pities him.

"Where did you even find this hideous thing?" he asks, looking the piano up and down. "It's almost as ugly as you."

"In here." Luna answers the first question, pretending not to notice the second. She isn't hurt by it.

"Well, I figured," he says huffily, picking at the straps of his leather messenger bag.

They stare at each other for a moment. Luna's luminous, electric blue eyes against Draco's tired grey ones. He suddenly jumps.

"I should go," he says with a feeble sneer.

"Have a nice night." She waves as he walks out on her without another word.

She taps her fingers on the keys.

There's something different about Draco Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco is livid.

He kicks a nearby pot, which goes crashing into a bookshelf, shattering into a thousand pieces of glass. It does nothing to soothe his rage. He picks up a silver spoon and chucks it in the same general direction, breaking a vase full of sunflowers. Sunflowers? Oh, life, how you mock him.

The cabinet watches him, the knobs on it looking as if it's making a mocking face. Or perhaps he's just imagining things. That's far more likely. He, Draco Lucius Malfoy is going completely and entirely insane. He lets out a scream of frustration and then sits down on a little chair, half of the size of a regular one, burying his head between his knees. It's somewhat calmer like this—his eyes are throbbing far less.

Finally, he stands up, stretches and meanders through the labyrinth to get out of here. He opens the door, nods at his accomplice and takes off with a slight flourish of his uniform robes. They're getting too loose now. The most plausible explanation is that he has barely been eating for months. Best yet, it's not even December yet. He can't even look forward to returning to his nice, comfortable manor. Then again, it has become far less comfortable in the past while. You would think living in a house full of crazy people would be fun—it's actually _really _depressing.

He may have to resort to more desperate measures in the meantime. Perhaps if he tries something small, something so thoroughly and utterly insane that it may work. Dumbledore doesn't appear to be expecting an assassin—so why would he double check as feverishly as, say, Alastor Moody.

His mind is racing when he hears, "Hello, Draco!"

He cringes. It's Loony Lovegood. He hasn't seen her in three whole days, which he had been quite pleased about, but, now, look what we have here. She's standing in the hallway, wearing some kind of clunky necklace and an oversized sunflower in her blonde hair. She's smiling broadly. She has quite white teeth, he notices, before reminding himself that he's noticing Loony Lovegood.

"You look grim," she says softly, prancing over to him. "Would you like a chocolate?"

Draco is dumbfounded.

"A... chocolate?" he asks, having never been offered a chocolate before by anyone but his mother.

"Oh, yes," she says, her protuberant eyes lighting up with excitement. "I have several. It was my birthday yesterday, you see."

She begins rummaging through her bright lavender bag. It has multicolored bells on it which jingle as she does so. Draco can only stand there, feeling so startled that he can't even move. This girl is unlike anything he has ever seen before in his life.

Loony finally withdraws a mauve box of chocolates. It has a lock on it, which is broken nearly in half, and crumbling metal everywhere. The top is slightly askew—just like everything about her. She opens it and forces a list of the chocolates into his hand.

"In my opinion, I prefer to just reach in and get something unusual, but you seem like a calculating kind of person, Draco," she says with a bright smile.

He hesitates for a moment, contemplating actually taking candy from such a disgrace to pure blood. Though, he cuts his losses, realizes that no one is in this hallway and reaches in to take one without looking. She begins grinning after that.

"That's the spirit!" she exclaims and he puts one finger to his lips. "Oh," she whispers, "that's the spirit."

He examines the chocolate for a moment and places it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. It's coconut. He has always liked coconut. The chocolate is also particularly good. He's quite curious as to where someone as dirt poor as the editor of _the Quibbler's _child could get something like this.

"Do you like it?" she asks softly, taking out one for herself.

"Not bad," he replies casually, setting the paper onto the box she still holds.

"Oh, you mustn't be so blasé about it," she says, never failing to surprise him. "If you like something you like it; if you dislike something you dislike it."

"_Right_," he says slowly, starting to walk away. "Take care of yourself."

And with that, he's gone.

…

Draco is sitting on the sofa in the Slytherin Common Room. The greenish light falls on his pallid face, giving him an eery glow. Pansy Parkinson is snuggled up against his side, and his arm is around her, in a more condescending manner than a comforting one. Theo Nott and Crabbe and Goyle are sitting across from him, Nott the only one actually talking. The boy has a bit of a mouth, Draco notices. He hates it. Personally, he prefers to be the one speaking, and everyone else listening intently.

Pansy kisses Draco at a break in conversation. She then leans back slightly, looking somewhat puzzled. He is equally as perplexed.

"Your lips taste like coconut. And chocolate," she says slowly, her dark eyebrows raised.

"I just had some coconut chocolate. Is that a _crime _now?" Draco whips his arm off of her, nearly smacking her in the back of the head.

She looks horridly surprised and his friends seem just as shocked. He glances at them for a moment, sneers, stands up and walks out of the common room, attracting quite a bit of attention on his way out. It wasn't intentionally, but he is on a shorter fuse than Filibuster's Ten Second Fireworks. And he feels as if he will explode like one of them, but minus all of the brilliant colors and patterns.

As he walks, he realizes that his brusque reply was not because she was treating him such, but because of his own embarrassment. How could _they _know the chocolate was from Loony? They know very little about his life. Or maybe it wasn't just embarrassment. Perhaps he was plunged back into the thought of the fact that he willingly accepted chocolate from Loony Lovegood.

His life is complicated enough already without this loon mixing things up. Why can't she just stay, sitting alone at the lunch table as usual, and keep her pretty nose out of his business? Did he just call her nose pretty? Well, she does have a nice nose. Draco has always been a man to appreciate noses. They kind of tie the face together. She doesn't have a bad face either. In fact, she's fairly good looking.

Draco stops in his tracks, nearly knocking over a first year.

"Get out of my way," he snaps at the terrified looking Hufflepuff. The kid scampers away.

He is _not _commending Loony's looks.

…

After the fiasco with the chocolates, Draco finds himself taking alternate routes to avoid fifth year Ravenclaws in general. He evades each and every class, takes forsaken hallways to stay as far as possible from their tower as he can. It tortures him worse than the Dark Lord can to think of running into Loony again.

"I'm afraid of a little mad girl," he says to the mirror, petrified at the thought.

"Maybe you _like _her." He recognizes the voice of Moaning Myrtle.

"Never," he snaps at the ghost and her lip begins to tremble. "Oh, don't cry. I can't stand this girl."

"Love is often confused with loathing," she says, her tears instantly fading and being replaced with a mischievous smile. "And you could use all the love you can get."

"Are you going to confess _your _love for me, or try to convince me that Loony is worth my time?" Draco retorts defensively.

"Oooooo, Loony Lovegood," she coos, soaring over to sit on the sink beside him. "I know her. Not many people like her, do they?"

"What reason would they have to?" Draco turns off his sink.

"She's pretty," Moaning Myrtle comments with a shrug. "Prettier than me."

"Pretty isn't the word. Have you seen her eyes? It reminds me of one of those weird monkey things that live in the rainforest," he says sharply and Moaning Myrtle chuckles. He doesn't think she's ever laughed before.

"Now look who's talking about animals I've never heard of." And with that, she's gone.

He wishes she was just sobbing like usual.


End file.
